Being a parent is hard, being a parent of a child who is “different”
is especially hard. This fact was made even clearer to me last Friday. Last Friday I got “the call”.
“There’s been an incident. You need to come to the school.”
sigh....what now?
Once at the school I am led to the conference room where there sits a guy I don’t know, the school psychologist, guidance counselor, the lady who hands out discipline and a police officer. In front of the police officer is my son’s Spiderman key chain and what looks to be two grey round plastic barrel looking things(from a toy) tied together with a garbage bag twist tie.
“There was a bomb threat”
My stomach drops
Then they proceed to tell me what happened. Another child (not mine) told some kids in the gym while waiting to go to homeroom that he had a bomb and was going to blow up the school. Some kids laughed it off, one kid told a teacher, my kid traded his new Spiderman key chain for it.
Why? You might ask, did my child want the bomb. So he could
bury it. Yes, my child traded his prized Spiderman key chain so he could save
everyone. His reward: two days suspension for “inducing panic”
The school was evacuated until they could find the bomb
The school was evacuated until they could find the bomb
My son should have
told a teacher. My son didn't understand the seriousness of the situation. My
son, even after it was explained to him, still believed he could disarm the
bomb and save everyone. This is what everyone is concerned about, my
son’s inability to grasp reality.
I have spent years protecting my son from being exposed to
too much violence. Constantly censoring the TV, not allowing video games, even
avoiding the news so he could keep some of his innocence. Now, I alone, have
to destroy it.
And destroy a piece of it I did. I tried explaining to him the dangers as we rode in the Jeep to the store, but he still really didn’t “get it” Then as we were walking out there were two veterans collecting money by the door. One of them had a badly disfigured face and my son asked what happened. I replied “THAT’S what bombs do”
Crushed. I could see a shadow cross his face and tears well in his eyes as reality set in .
Congratulation to me, I just killed a piece of my son's sweet childness. I destroyed his fantasy. Inflicted emotional pain on purpose, because “they” were concerned.
Now I cry.
My son acted selflessly doing what any superhero would do. He did what he thought was right. He didn't want anyone to get hurt. Because of this, he is the one who ended up getting hurt.
All is not lost though. As we were walking away he turns to me and says:
“I feel so bad for him. (the vet) Can we give him more money?”
Still my little hero.
